


Visiting Hours

by ArturisNebula



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream POV, Dream is in Prison, Dream isn't a monster just a guy who made some mistakes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, George is hurting, Happy Ending, Healing, Love, M/M, Soft dnf hours, complicated relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArturisNebula/pseuds/ArturisNebula
Summary: George finally visits Dream in prison.--He finally sits up, rubbing at the back of his neck and yawning. He realizes that the barrier is up and that a person is standing on the other side of it all at once, a shiver of surprise racing up his spine. “George?” He asks, confusion and hopefulness bursting through each letter of the word. The figure nods, not moving any closer. “Wh-what are you doing here?”“Punz told me that I should stop by.” George says it offhandedly, carelessly almost. “That you… wanted to see me?”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 271





	Visiting Hours

Dream stands, almost nose-to-nose to the lava. He’s not afraid of it. Dying permanently isn’t possible for him, not that anyone’s caught on yet. Sure, he’d acted desperate back in that room, surrounded by people he used to call friends. But, it’d been a ploy, a ruse to get them united, finally, and to get him safe.

From the beginning there’d always been so much hate. It’d started with Ponk’s Lemon Tree, and only gotten worse from there. War upon war setting his SMP ablaze, destroying the careful foundation of peace he’d striven to create. Breaking the sole rule he’d set in place: 'no fighting,' without even thinking. Because everyone thought that they alone were the exception, championing a cause that was ‘so important’ that the people opposing them deserved to die.

And sure, he’d stepped in occasionally. To uphold the unity that he valued above all else. Killing Tommy once, to prove a point, exiling him to dissuade the revolution Tommy was carelessly stoking. Destroying L’Manberg for the first time, then again but better. Both times hatefully reminiscent of one another. Both times glorious.

As the flames curled across the ruins of a “once-great” nation a second time, he knew he’d be hunted down eventually. Put in prison. So, he allowed Tommy and Tubbo to find him quickly, on his terms, knowing that Tommy had the power to unite the SMP against a common enemy. And, just like he’d predicted, Tommy had.

He’d planted the idea in Sam’s head to put him into prison long ago, when he’d been helping Sam with one of the walls, offhandedly joking about the irony of a situation in which he, who’d paid for it to be built, ended up in it.

The pieces had come together perfectly last week, and he’d gotten put in jail, knowing that his SMP was finally at peace. Or, at least far more at peace than it had been in years.

He knew that he’d get out eventually, when the time was right. Until then, he’d wait, bide his time.

The one thing he hadn’t expected was how boring it was going to be, locked in a cell for weeks on end. Sure, Dream’d been alone for periods of time before, but he’d had more room to roam, more things to do. The theoretical option of visiting people.

His days now mostly consisted of a mixture of the same activities in different orders. He’d started writing, making up stories or jotting down short poems. Mapping out ideas, next moves in the over-complicated game of chess he was playing against… someone. Maybe the universe, maybe Tommy, maybe himself.

Out of boredom, he’d also developed a hobby of trying to figure out creative ways to kill himself. Drowning in lava being the most obvious, and truthfully, his favorite. The flash of all-consuming pain and heat the closest thing to sunlight he had.

A few people’d visited him: Puffy, maybe once a week. She seemed to think that she could change him, almost therapizing him during her time in his cell. Punz, every two or three days, to tell him the news of what was going on, to talk about everything and nothing. They’d developed a routine of playing chess while they talked, keeping a tally on one of Dream’s walls of wins and losses. Punz’d sometimes get Sam’s permission to bring in liquor, and they’d have chess tournaments, just them, loser taking a shot after each game. It made for some of the stupidest chess they’d ever played: trash-talking one another over the simplest moves, occasionally flipping the board.

Punz liked to think of himself as a mercenary, siding with whoever paid him better. Dream was similar, fighting for peace, siding with whoever would help him and his cause the most, not caring what friendships he betrayed.

But with their connection, it was different. They’d stood shoulder to shoulder through war upon war. Unbreakable loyalty and deep respect forged in moments they had to lay their lives in the one another’s hands. Friendship might’ve not meant anything to either of them, not really, at least, but at some point between the first time Punz’d agreed to help Dream fight Tommy and now, they’d become brothers.

Maybe it’d happened when Dream’d seen Punz distraught over his horse falling into a ravine and spent hours helping him carefully lift it out. Maybe it’d been before the duel with Tommy, when Punz’d pulled him aside and hugged him, whispering in his ear that it’d be okay, that no matter what happened he’d always stand beside him.

Maybe it’d been in Punz’s attic a few weeks ago, when they’d decided that sacrificing Punz’s horse wouldn’t be enough to sway Tommy’s allies to fully trust him. Realizing that the only thing that’d make them accept the mercenary was him showing up to fight on the side opposite Dream for no pay. Dream knowingly giving him the SMP and asking nothing in return.

Tommy’d visited, once, to toture him mostly. Sapnap, twice, to say hello, seemingly unsure of how to treat the whole situation, still not quite having forgiven Dream for the Community House. Sam’d sat with him a few times as he’d eaten, cautiously standing at the far corner and making small talk.

Tommy’s visit’s sat with him the most though, haunted his memories. Not Tommy himself. The kid was obviously scared out of his mind, trying not to seem too desperate for answers at to why Dream’d manipulated him, but failing gloriously. Dream’d tried to seem sorry. Tried to seem beaten down, the life taken out of him.

What’d sat with him was the question he’d asked. The question that’d caused him to call for Sam, ask him to make Tommy leave: 'who do you miss the most.'

Because he didn’t want to admit who it was, not really. He didn’t want to think about the answer, think about why he hadn’t visited yet, even though it’d been almost a month already.

Dream hadn’t had the chance to explain anything to him before it’d all gone down, too busy preparing everything, filling Punz in.

He knew that Sam’d deliver a letter for Dream if it complied with whatever the prison guidelines were. But, the delivery wasn’t the hard part. Writing it was the hard part.

Dream’d been trying to write everything down, explain what’d happened, why he’d done what he’d done using the seemingly endless supply of paper he’d been provided. Frustratingly, more often than not, his attempts were balled up after the greeting, maybe even the first sentence on a good day, and chucked into the molten rock flowing slowly feet away.

\--

Dream turns and sits back down, grabbing a piece of paper. He grabs a pen and starts scrawling out a greeting. Cursing and scratching it out after another few words. He pulls out another piece of paper and starts again, almost the same exact thing happening. “Fuck.” He balls up the two attempts and swivels to toss them into the lava, cocking his head to the side when he notices it’s lowering.

He checks the clock, realizing it’s hit six, around the time Punz usually stops by for the day if he’s going to.

Sure enough, as the swirling orange and yellow lowers further, Punz’s outline becomes visible on the other side, arm raised in greeting. Dream waves at him, forgetting all about the letters and moving to sit on his stiff mattress. Punz likes to take the desk chair, and the bed’s the only other seating in the room aside from the floor. He unfolds the small card table that Sam brought for him, and the chess board, setting the pieces up as Punz rides the platform over to his cell.

He watches as Punz steps off, waiting patiently for the lava to completely encase them once more and the barrier separating him and Dream to disappear into the floor.

“Hey,” he greets, finally stepping in. He slides into Dream’s chair, raising his fist. Dream automatically bumps it.

“Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Not much, new guy joined today.”

“Oh yeah, I’d totally forgotten about him. He get introduced to everybody okay? I hadn’t anticipated being MIA when I asked him to join.”

“Yeah, allying with Snowchester I think? Ranboo had it covered, showed him around.” Punz smiles. “Good kid.”

“Yeah, I made the right choice with that one,” Dream agrees. “White or black?”

“He’s both, I think. Got a yin/yang thing going on.” Punz cracks, pulling a chuckle out of Dream.

“I meant chess, dummy.”

Punz leans forward, eying the board before moving a white pawn two spaces forward.

“Interesting,” Dream says, moving in response. “Not your usual opening.”

“I’ve been trying out some new things.” Punz says cryptically as they fly through the beginning few moves of the game. Dream raises an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the board. “Got a chess book.” Punz explains.

“It any good?” Dream asks, trading a bishop for a rook.

“It’s okay. You can borrow it after I’m done if you want. Some of the puzzles are interesting.”

“Cool.” Dream nods, falling silent for a minute as he concentrates, carefully navigating his queen out of a rough situation. He leans back and exhales, running a hand through his hair. “How’s everyone else doing?”

“Everyone everyone? Or just George and Sapnap.” Punz asks, moving his queen forward a space. “Check.”

Dream groans, moving his king to the left. “Already?”

Punz raises his hands in feigned innocence. “Hey, your king was sitting wide open. Not my fault.”

“Sure,” Dream says, shifting forward on his bed to lean closer to the board. “You literally don’t gain anything from it either.”

“How do you know?” Punz challenges, a sparkle in his eye.

“Because I can see,” Dream returns.

“Whatever, dude. You going to answer my question?” Punz takes Dream’s queen.

“Fuck.” Dream curses, moving his knight to threaten Punz’s queen. “Yeah, obviously I just meant George and Sapnap.”

“They still haven’t visited?” Punz asks, pity blinking across his face.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dream says, sharply, immediately wincing at the look of fear that flashes briefly in Punz's eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it. I wouldn’t want you looking at me like a kicked puppy either.” He grabs Dream’s hand, squeezing it for a second. His fingers are rough against Dream’s soft hands. “I’m here as your equal.”

Dream smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks.”

“So?” Punz asks, leaning back, not a fan of the slight awkwardness brought on by heartfelt moments.

“Right, uh, Sapnap’s been stopping by more. I think he’s warming up to me again. Dunno if we’ll ever get back to where we were but it’s something.”

“That’s good,” Punz encourages. “And George?”

“Still haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s just been busy exploring?” Dream muses, hopefully. Punz looks at him, confliction evident in his eyes. “Punz?”

“He’s stopped by to talk to me occasionally. I think he’s been spending most of his time fixing up Tubbo’s old place in the jungle, wanted to get away for a bit.” Punz shrugs.

“I feel like you’re not telling me the truth.” Dream moves his rook decisively, as if to back up his point. “Checkmate.”

Punz tilts his head, eyes flicking across every possible move his king could make, leaning back at looking Dream in the eyes when he comes to the conclusion that it is, in fact, checkmate. “Dream,” he sighs, “I’m not sure you want to hear the truth.”

“Punz, I’m not a kid.”

Punz throws his hands in the air. “Look, Dream, I can tell you if you want, but I’m not stupid either, okay? I saw how you looked at him before you got put in here, and know how you’ll look at him when you get out.”

“What, I-I don’t-”

“You’re not exactly subtle, buddy. Nobody in history has ever gone to war against a nation for just a friend.” Punz grins at him, then notices the simmering confusion streaked with anger behind Dream’s eyes and softens his voice. “Hey, hey. I’m not coming after you. Honestly, not too bad of a choice. A little scrawny though.”

Dream just stares at him.

“Look, I’m just trying to help.” Punz continues, more seriously. “I don’t like it when you hurt.”

“Punz,” Dream sighs, staring at the floor. “Can you just- can you just tell me. It’s really not a big deal if he’s been around.”

Punz pauses, waiting until Dream brings his eyes back up front he floor. “He’s been around a lot. Hasn’t left, actually.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s fine,” Dream says, moving his eyes back down to the board. “Want to play another game?”

“Uh, sure.” Punz starts moving his pieces back into neat rows. “Look, I know we haven’t really talked about this and I’m not really good at any of the romance stuff but I can tell he misses you. I don’t know what was up with the two of you before-” Punz gestures around Dream’s cell, “all this, but like, if you want me to nudge him your way, if it’ll make you less doom and gloom and more sunshine and rainbows, I can.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Dream says, “I think a good idea, though, would be for you to move.”

“Move?”

“Your piece, dumbass.” Dream rolls his eyes.

Punz folds his arms. “Look man, I’ll drop it after this cause I know you’re getting annoyed at me, but you’ve been getting more distant lately, like how you used to get when he’d leave on long trips. Except this time he’s not coming back in however many days, it’s indefinite, and I don’t- I don’t want to see you become a ghost, Dream.”

Dream bites his lip and leans back onto his back on the bed until he’s laying completely flat. He turns his face towards Punz. “Has he been happier?”

“Happy? Eh. Happier? Definitely not.”

“Did I hurt him?”

“I’m not deep-diving into questions that you already know the answers to tonight. Ever, for that matter. I will, however, ask you again if I should give him an excuse to visit you.”

“Okay, sure.” Dream says softly.

“What?” Punz asks loudly, having heard him, but wanting a more committal ‘yes.’

“I said ‘okay,’ are you deaf?” Dream says, speaking at a normal volume this time.

“Good answer.” Punz moves his pawn forward, starting one game and ending another. “Your move.”

They sit, playing chess and talking well into the night, finally interrupted at midnight by Sam. “Visiting hours are over.” He states firmly, waiting for Punz on the platform that’ll transport them from Dream’s cell.

“Thanks Sam,” Punz stands up, turning towards Dream. He gives him a nod. “I agreed to go on an expedition with Ant and Bad for a few weeks, but I’ll visit you the second I’m home.” Sam clears his throat. “The second I’m home and it’s visiting hours.” Punz corrects, stepping out of the cell and onto the platform.

“Okay, thank you for coming. It was really nice.” Dream smiles at him. “I’ll be here, waiting.”

“Bye Dream.”

“Bye Punz.” Dream watches as Punz and Sam are transported back over the lava. He keeps his eyes locked on Punz until the lava’s fully separated them again. He carefully tucks away the chess set and folds up the table, then flops onto his bed and stares at the ceiling, letting a careful spark of hope rise in his chest.

He’d thought that George’d be happier without him, freer. Sure, he’d made George happy. He wasn’t dense enough not to know that, but they’d had a strange relationship. All flame and passion, scaffolding instead of support beams:

Sneaking into George’s room late at night and stealing kisses, falling asleep together, Dream gone before George’d even begin to stir in the morning, leaving him to wake hours later to an empty bed.

Intercepting George on his way home from a long day of farming and taking him on detours to pretty spots. Sometimes bringing a bottle of something or other to get them giggly and light enough to blend into the stars Dream’d spend nights mapping out for George, finger dancing across the sky. Orion, Lynx, Cassiopeia. Constellations that George’d try to find, later, tracing his finger across the faint freckles coating Dream’s face.

Caring for one another after fights, nimble fingers wrapping bandages around calves, chests, maybe exploring further afterwards- collarbones, cheekbones, lips.

Beautiful weapons far better than any George could make occasionally showing up in his chests with no note and no notice. Boxes of baked goods and well-made clothing left at Dream’s haunts every now and again.

Bundles of flowers appearing in bags and books and anywhere, really. A daisy skillfully slipped into George’s hood while he was practicing his archery. A rose tucked between Dream’s fingers while he was napping under the L’Mantree.

They never clarified their relationship, never brought it into any of the messiness of the politics of the SMP, never let it guide their hands during battles, other than having a silent pact never to fight with one another in specific.

But, not having a definition didn’t stop whatever careful bond they’d created from swiftly severing the moment George heard about everything Dream’d done the past few months: The Community House, the cruelty he’d shown Tommy and Tubbo, his vault meant to hurt every member of the SMP. The vault that Dream’d said had a space for everyone’s precious item, leaving out that there wasn’t a space for George, that he couldn’t bear to take anything from him.

He’d always thought George’d never truly found joy in their game of a relationship. George who treasured stability and trust. George, who looked at Dream with fear in his eyes after battles, not because of the fighting, but because of him; Dream the ruthless killing machine. George, freed of the ghost of a man that clung to him, toyed with him. A Spector of a man that cared far more than he wanted to admit.

\--

Dream falls asleep, finally, thoughts of George that he hasn’t allowed to break into his carefully barricaded mind rushing through all at once. He sleeps restlessly, dreaming of a face that he hasn’t seen in far too long, a face that presses against his and kisses everything okay again. Fingers that run along his scalp, twisting his hair into swirling patterns. Feet that intertwine with his, and flowers. So many flowers.

When he finally wakes, Dream feels cold and alone, disappointment weighing down his bones. He sticks his head under the sink and runs water over his head, combing out any memory of his dreams. He dries his head and lays back down on his bed, closing his eyes and listening to the lava crackle and pop, feeling it in his molars.

Without even realizing it, he drifts asleep, body mistaking meditation for exhaustion. When he blinks awake again, he’s not sure how long has passed. He stares at the ceiling, trying to scatter the drowsiness from his limbs.

He finally sits up, rubbing at the back of his neck and yawning. He realizes that the barrier is up and that a person is standing on the other side of it all at once, a shiver of surprise racing up his spine. “George?” He asks, confusion and hopefulness bursting through each letter of the word. The figure nods, not moving any closer. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Punz told me that I should stop by.” George says it offhandedly, carelessly almost. “That you… wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.” Dream breathes, standing up, “I mean, yes. Yes, I wanted to see you.” He steps forward, stopping when George tenses. “I-I’m not going to hurt you, you know that, right?”

“Yes.” George says, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself that’s the right answer than actually answering Dream’s question.

Dream sighs, standing awkwardly. “I’ll just. Stay here.”

“Okay,” George says, leaning against the wall.

“So…” Dream starts, not really sure where he’s going with his sentence, letting it trail off.

“So…” George echoes.

“How’ve you been?” Dream asks, finally. He crosses his arms loosely.

“I’ve been okay. You?”

“Fine, kind of bored.”

“Yeah,” George nods.

They stand in silence for a few beats, and when it becomes clear that George isn’t going to further the conversation, Dream opens his mouth again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” George shrugs.

“Everything. I shouldn’t have left you in the dark.”

“Yeah, you’re right, you shouldn’t’ve.” George sighs. Dream expects him to continue talking, but he doesn’t.

They eye one another for another minute before George calls for Sam to let him out. As George turns to step away, Dream steps to the bars of his cell, curling his fingers around two of them. “Can you come back?” He whispers, so quiet that he’s not sure George even hears it. “Please?” George turns to look at Dream over his shoulder and moves his head in an almost imperceptible nod before stepping onto the platform, riding it across, and vanishing.

To Dream’s surprise, George does come back. Not the next day, but the day after. Loitering awkwardly in the corner of Dream’s cell.

“You can come closer, you know.”

“I know.”

Dream looks at him. “Why’d you come back?”

“Because you asked me too.” George returns, simply.

“Want to play chess?” Dream offers, gesturing at the board.

“Not really.”

“Checkers?”

“Fine.”

“Sam’ll have to lower the bars.” Dream warns, expecting George to change his mind.

“Okay,” George says, not moving. The bars begin to lower without either of them asking, Sam probably listening in out of boredom. “Can he hear us?”

“Yeah, apparently blowing things up takes away your right to privacy,” Dream jokes dryly.

“Makes sense.” George replies.

Dream unfolds his table and lays out the board, setting out checkers instead of the chess pieces. “You can have the chair,” he gestures at his desk chair. George slowly walks over and takes a seat. Dream freezes until he’s settled, afraid that if he moves George’ll spook and run away, like a stray cat.

“Nice place you got here.” George says. Dream takes a second to try and figure out if he’s joking, and comes up blank.

“Yeah,” he responds, at a loss. “You know how to play, right?”

“Yup.” George moves his first piece forwards. Dream mirrors his movement, and they continue in silence. Dream takes the time in-between turns to study George. He looks the same as he always has, hair maybe a little longer, more tattered. His eyes catch on a small scar cutting across George's left thumb and he wonders where it came from, wonders if he can ask.

They play, neither speaking much beyond _your move_ , and _nice_ , but Dream honestly doesn’t mind, more than happy to just have George in the same room as him again.

George abruptly stands up after the third game, walking to the edge of Dream’s cell, and Dream doesn’t argue. He puts everything away while they wait for Sam. When he finally arrives, Dream finds himself asking George to come back again, and getting another imperceptible nod in return. He smiles softly at George’s back as he slowly rides across the lava.

\--

They begin forming a pattern after that, Dream waking every day or two to George standing in the corner of his cell, maybe sitting in Dream’s chair if he’s feeling bold.

George likes to visit early. Maybe it gives him a sense of security to be reminded that Dream sleeps like everyone else: helplessly, covers twisted around his slackened limbs. Maybe George just has other things to do later in the day. Maybe he’s embarrassed, doesn’t want anyone to see him stopping by.

Whatever the reason, he sits, stands, waits for Dream to stir and sometimes greets him. Most of the time stays silent, waiting for Dream to make the first move, break the silence.

They play checkers. So many games of checkers.

Dream starts to see those goddamn red and black pieces in his dreams, the board imprinted on the back of his eyelids every time he tries to close them, every time he so much as blinks.

Neither of them are any good at checkers, though it’s almost impossible to really be anything above painfully average at a game that’s half luck and half reliant on your opponent having less common sense than you.

Dream supposes that if they’d really been trying every game, that he and George would’ve become masters by now, but they didn’t play for the sake of winning or losing, instead playing to stall, to distract, moving pieces up and down the board aimlessly.

Slowly, Dream begins to notice George becoming more comfortable around him again. Resting his elbows on the table and moving in close to the board, within Dream’s reach. Beginning to accept glasses of water from him, a blanket one day when Dream’d notices goosebumps trickling down his arms. Dream forces back a smile with each new development, afraid George’ll notice that Dream’s been mapping out every one of his movements. Scared it’ll frighten the timid man back to square one.

They don’t talk for the first week and spare change, even with maybe two hours of sitting together most days. Or they do talk, but not really. Scattered questions, ignored or answered with one word, greetings acknowledged but not returned. Don’t really talk until Tuesday, a week and a day past George’s first visit, when George stops by late instead of early. Steps in while Dream’s knee-deep in a book at his desk, brow furrowed.

Dream swivels his chair as he hears his bed gently creak, finding himself staring directly into a pair of eyes reminiscent of damp soil, small flecks of green sprouting, almost imperceptibly, around the edges of the iris. He almost falls out of his chair in surprise, drops his book instead. Both men turn at the same time watch as it flops to the floor, landing face-up on the smooth obsidian.

They both go to pick it up, Dream reaching it first and George awkwardly bolting back to sitting straight. “Sorry.”

“It-don’t worry about it.” Dream smiles at him. “Checkers?”

“Yeah.”

“The board is-” Dream starts, but George pulls it from under his bed before he can finish. George grabs the table, unfolds it, and plunks the board on. He pulls out the pieces and starts to lay them out. “Looks like you got it covered.”

“Yup.” George moves one of his pieces forwards, and Dream follows suit. They play more quickly than usual, George moving his pieces more recklessly than Dream’s used to. George pulls off a win after five minutes, barely, and they reset the board. This time, Dream moves first.

The air feels more tense than usual, not awkward, as it’d been feeling, not necessarily hostile, just charged. It’s making Dream anxious, the hand he’s not using to move pieces tapping on the table.

Staring down at the table, mid-moving his checker, George finally opens his mouth and asks the question Dream’s been trying to avoid from the moment George stepped into his cell, the question that he’s filled so many pages trying to answer. “Why?”

Dream tries sidestepping the question. “Why what?”

George fixes him with a piercing stare. “I think you’re well aware of what I’m asking Dream.”

“It’s just kind of a broad question.” Dream jumps a piece over two of George’s. “That’ll take a long time to answer.”

“I have plenty of time.”

“I’ve noticed.” Dream quips, a little more harshly that he means to. He tends to get mean when he’s stressed.

“I can just leave, Dream.”

“I-It’s hard, George.” Dream sighs, trying to buy time to get his thoughts in order.

“You know what else is fucking hard? Finding out from an acquaintance that the man you- that the reason you hadn’t stopped by recently was because you were in jail, Dream. I can understand not telling me everything about you, hell, keep all the secrets you want, but this- this? You just left me without warning.” George takes a deep breath, giving Dream a glare when he opens his mouth to cut in. “I didn’t even get to see you before you left and now I’ve been coming here day after day and waiting for you to say something, anything, to explain everything from your perspective -I would’ve been on your side, Dream- but all you do is sit there, asking me pointless questions and staring at me like I’m a ghost. I’m not a fucking ghost, Dream, I’m here.”

“I…” Dream trails off, feeling as if George’s just sucker punched him in the chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark but everything happened so fast and I couldn’t get to you in time.”

George snorts. “You could’ve if you really wanted to.”

“There was just so much going on and you weren’t here and-”

“That’s not enough of an excuse Dream. I-I loved you, okay? I trusted you and you just- you threw me away like it was nothing. Do you know how that feels?”

“No, but-”

“It fucking sucks, okay? It makes you feel like- like such an idiot for ever thinking that you could be important to someone.” George takes a breath, relaxing his shoulders. “I don’t really care about any of the messed-up shit you did, the vault, the community house. I know you and trust whatever you were trying to accomplish, and I’m sure you have a whole powerpoint presentation ready to explain everything, I just need to know why-” His voice goes quieter. “Why you didn’t tell me.”

“George, please.” Dream says, softly. “Can I just- can I talk for a second?” George nods, shallowly. “Everything just happened so fast. I really tried to find you. I did, but I had to leave more quickly than I expected and I couldn’t go anywhere near the remains of L’Manberg or most of the SMP without probably dying, and you weren’t anywhere.” Dream drags his hands down his face. “I looked for you, I really did. And then I couldn’t find you, and I meant to give Punz something to give to you and then I just- I didn’t know how to explain everything and figured I’d have time later and then there wasn’t any. I’m sorry, George.”

George sighs. “Okay.”

“I know it’s not.” Dream looks down at the floor. “I’m not blind, George, I know how you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dream watches George lean back against the wall. “How do I look at you?”

Dream looks back up at George. “Like you’re afraid I’m going to kill you.”

“So I’m a little scared of you, you’re a criminal, Dream.”

Dream leans forward. “I thought you said you didn’t care about that.”

“I don’t, but there’s a reason you’re in jail.”

“You keep saying that you trusted me and now you don’t, but I don’t think that’s true. You never trusted me. It always felt like you were waiting for me to mess up and hurt you because you thought that you deserved it. Because you think that you’re not good enough for someone to really care about you.” Dream sighs, looking George right in the eyes. “Look, I’m sorry that I made you feel bad, but I’ve had a rough few weeks too, okay? I never wanted to hurt you George. I really didn’t. I made a stupid mistake, and I can apologize more, but I don’t think it’s going to change anything if you won’t believe me.”

“I think… I think I should go.” George says, standing up quickly.

“Don’t run away again.” Dream steps in front of George. He puts his hand on his cheek, pulls George’s face sideways, gently, until he’s staring directly into George’s eyes. “Stay.”

George relaxes slightly against his hand. “Okay.”

“Really?” Dream asks, in surprise.

“Yeah, really.” George smiles tentatively. “I’ll stay.”

Dream drops his hand, and they stand there, just staring at one another for a few seconds. Dream’s gaze softens as he notices George’s fingers, anxiously curling and uncurling. He grabs his hand, intertwines his fingers with George’s. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” George whispers.

Dream steps closer, and George flinches slightly. Dream winces, stepping back again. “Sorry.”

“No, no it’s fine. I just- I just- I- can you ask? For now? Just before you do anything?” George starts to almost recede into himself, as if he’s expecting Dream to yell at him in response to his simple request.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I can.” Dream answers immediately, George immediately relaxing. “Can I, uh, can I hug you? It’s ok if not, but-” George steps forward, closing the distance between them and tugs Dream close, nodding into his chest. Dream carefully wraps his arms around George’s back, being very deliberate with his movements, and rests his chin on the top of George’s head. His hair still smells the same, like burnt lilac and mint. They stand like that for a long time, long enough that by the time they finally step apart, Sam’s waiting at the edge of the cell door to escort George out of the prison.

“Bye,” George says, cautiously smiling.

“Bye,” Dream returns, watching as Sam leads George back out of the section of the prison that Dream can see.

\--

After that, things get easier. Not easy, but more open, more relaxed.

They do more than play checkers. George tells him about everything he’s been doing, about how things’ve changed since Dream’s gotten locked up. He talks to him about how the trees have been changing color, how the air bites when him when first step out of his house every morning, autumn finally setting in.

In return, Dream reads him the poetry he’s been writing to pass the time. Dream thinks it’s awful, but George finds it thoroughly entertaining, asking Dream every other stanza what a word or phrase means.

Some days they talk more seriously, about trust, about their relationship. The conversations that they should’ve had years ago but didn’t. Full of careful _I love you_ s.

Some days they don’t talk at all, re-exploring one another after so long. Slow kisses and quiet laughter, basking in one another’s breath.

A month later, Dream wakes up to a grinning George in his arms and small fragments of glowstone stuck to his ceiling. Wakes up with a happiness he hasn’t felt in months bubbling in his chest. And everything feels more than okay, for the first time in a long time. Everything feels more than okay, and when he reaches over to kiss George he forgets to ask first, but George doesn’t jerk away.

And just like that, they’re back beneath stars, back to where they were. Except this time it’s better. Better because when they break apart and Dream loses himself in George’s chocolate eyes, there isn’t an ounce of anything but love. Better because later, when George noses into his shoulder and falls asleep, Dream’s still there holding him tight when he wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! I hope you enjoyed. I know it's kind of smushed and fast. I wanted to make it longer, but it felt best at this length to me. Any feedback is appreciated and I hope you have a lovely day!!!


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